


Bloodletting

by Midnight_Ophelia



Category: Magic: The Gathering
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Blood Drinking, F/M, Light BDSM, Plot With Porn, Vampire Turning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-12 21:44:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4495797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midnight_Ophelia/pseuds/Midnight_Ophelia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A vampire's hunger is not always purely centered on the substance of blood. Sometimes it's sex. Sometimes it's both. Sometimes you're left dealing with the consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloodletting

**Author's Note:**

> Not a whole lot I can say in my defense of this thing. It's sorta self-indulgent and I briefly considered not posting this, but after some interest on tumblr, I sorta gave in. It's been a million years since I've written Het sex, so, well, you get what you get, I suppose . 
> 
> Hopefully it's not terrible and I apologize for the short length.

He came across her at one of Olivia Voldaren's ridiculous parties that he was attending as a special guest, a thousand years into his unlife as vampire and a Planeswalker. She was a beautiful thing, tall and shapely, with a head of bouncing copper colored ringlets and dark expressive eyes. The vampires had put her in a leather and lace gown that boasted voluminous skirts that flared out around her as she danced and a form-fitting bodice that plunged low enough at the neckline to show off the swell of her pale breasts.

“Sorin Markov, I'm glad that you could take some time out of your busy schedule to join us tonight,” Olivia said as way of greeting, appearing suddenly at his side. A long time ago it would have been startling, however, he'd long since grown used to it. “Shame that your grandfather could not make it as well.”

“He's not one for parties like this,” Sorin replied, eyeing the crowds of dancing men and women, almost all of them vampire, swirling around the large ballroom of Olivia's estate. “And neither am I, for that matter. Why am I here, exactly?”

Olivia smiled and hooked her arm around his, leading him towards the woman he had first spotted. “You're Edgar Markov's only grandson and the second eldest vampire here, or anywhere on Innistrad. People want to see you. Speaking of which, I have someone I wish for you to meet.”

The woman stopped her dancing when they approached and fixed her gaze immediately onto Sorin, her full lips pulling up at the corners.

“This is Mila, the eldest daughter of a noble benefactor. Quite lovely, isn't she?” Olivia introduced, gesturing a gloved at her.

Sorin's eyes habitually drifted down from Mila's face to her throat where a black beaded choker had been conveniently clasped to draw attention. She noticed.

“Fancy what you see, my lord?” Mila asked, reaching to her choker to play coyly with a bead.

Sorin blinked once, unamused, and turned to face Olivia.

“What is the point of this?” he asked with irritation coating his tone. “What are your intentions, and don't lie to me. Patience is not one of my better virtues.”

Olivia's placating smile threatened to slip off her beautiful face, but with the force of will, managed to seem unphased. “Well, if you would give me a moment before assuming the worst, I was going to tell you,” she explained curtly. “Mila is yours, to do with as you wish. She's a gift for your one thousandth year.”

Sorin looked at Mila again, with suspicion this time. Was that truly Olivia's only goal? To give him ownership over a human woman just because he had managed to survive a thousand years? It seemed odd, even by Olivia's eccentric standards. Someone might accuse him of being too suspicious of the motives of others, but Sorin had earned his right to being as such.

“Thank-you,” Sorin said, dryly, before he turned around on his booted heel and walked away, grabbing his coat from one of the butlers that hovered near the doors. He wasn't sure what bothered him more; that Olivia had the gall to assume that she knew what he wanted or that Mila's presence could not and would not be shaken from his head.

* * *

Sorin told himself that he only remained on Innistrad to take a much needed break after Zendikar, but the truth was less that and more about Mila.

Much to his further annoyance, she had turned up at the manor the evening after the party, dressed in a paper thin gown and a smile on her face. Sorin's jaw clenched, and he allowed her in after alerting the doorman to her presence. He didn't know what to do with her, really, and he was half-tempted to just end her life in order to solve the problem, but that was a bit too harsh even for him.

And to make matters worse, she had just appeared in his room, wearing not even the dress. Mila's hair hung loose over her shoulders, covering her breasts from view. Her neck and wrists were dripping with jewelry that jingled as she sauntered towards where he sat at his desk. She sat down on the edge, not bothering to keep her legs properly closed, and reached out to brush her fingers over his neck. Sorin grabbed her wrist, glaring with less venom than he should have.

There was something not quite right about this woman. No human in their right mind should so willingly offer themselves up to a vampire.

“Mila,” he sighed, “what are you doing here?”

“I'm yours. I belong to you,” was her quiet reply, looking up at him from beneath long lashes demurely. “I'm only doing what I'm meant to do. Is that so wrong?”

“I never asked for you.” Sorin stood up and put distance between himself and Mila. “Nor do I want you. Why don't you go home, back to your family.”

“Because my family doesn't want me to come back. They specifically wanted me to be given to you.” Mila sounded almost upset at his denial. “They want me to win over your house so that you might help them in the future.”

A bribe, then. That made sense. If perhaps they scratched his back, he'd scratch theirs. Politics never changed, even after a thousand years. Human, vampire, it was always the same.

Mila's eyes fluttered shut as he filled the space between them and traced her lips with his thumb. “Is that so?” Sorin murmured. They expected him to 'anoint' her, more than likely, change her into one of his kind. He supposed that he could. Her loyalty might be useful in the future. “Would you want to be used?”

“Of course I would.”

To hell with it.

Sorin grabbed her by the waist and dropped her on the bed, covering her body with his own. Mila's eyes were wide as she stared up at him, not having expected the sudden movement.

“Remember that you asked for this,” Sorin told her, voice low, taking hold of her wrists and holding them above her head with one hand. His mouth found hers in a crushing kiss, dragging her bottom lip between his teeth, turning it red with beads of blood as his fangs jabbed at the thin skin. He pulled away for a moment. “If you regret this, it's no fault of mine.”

Sorin shifted his weight and trailed his free hand down Mila's chest and stomach to reach down between her legs where he found her wetness. He slowly pressed a finger in. Her hips rose and a small gasp passed her lips. The sound shot a jolt straight down to Sorin's groin. He added a second finger, curling and moving them both, listening to Mila's sighs and gasps until he eventually removed them when he was satisfied that she'd been properly prepared.

Sorin cleaned off his fingers with his tongue and then undid his trousers, all the while keeping one hand still around Mila's wrists as she watched him.

When he adjusted himself and pushed into her, Mila's back arched in pleasure and he swallowed up her cries with his mouth. Her legs locked around him at the ankles, pulling him flush against her. She clenched around him and he groaned, thrusting his hips hard against hers. Mila hissed against his lips and tried to pull her arms out of his grip with no success.

The pace started out slow and firm, then picked up pace and strength until Mila was mewling below him helplessly.

Sorin's mouth roamed from hers to her neck where he bit and licked against the sensitive skin just hard enough to leave marks in his wake. He could feel her body beginning to shake and tense and with a final hard thrust, she cried out. He let go of her arms and pulled out, sliding down her sweaty body until his head was between her legs. He tasted her and himself on his tongue as it darted into her crevice, twisting and testing and further pushing her again. Mila's hands tangled into his hair and when his fangs nipped her, she pulled hard at the strands wrapped around her fingers. Sorin grunted at the sharp pain and smacked her outer thigh in retaliation. She didn't let go, but her grip loosened.

Sorin licked at her core until he could feel her about to come again and then stopped, lifting his to look up at her. He grinned at the frustrated look on her face and licked his lips before he slid down a bit further and kissed her inner thigh.

Mila's gasp filled the room as he bit down.

She didn't struggle as he drank from her deeply, tasting wine in her system from the night before, and he continued to do so until he felt her body go limp. Sorin bit his own lip, drawing his own blood, and pressed it against where he'd punctured Mila's femoral artery. His blood would anoint hers and when she woke up she'd be the same as him. The question on whether or not she regretted her decision when she did wake was still up in the air.

Sorin left Mila to rest on his bed, tossing a blanket over her still nude form, and had a servant heat up water for a bath, tying his hair back to get it out of the way. While he cleaned himself off, his eyes kept seeking out Mila on his bed, watching her chest rise and fall shallowly with each breath, her body close to death, but unable to die.

The change took longer to kick in for proper fledglings of the Markov bloodline, not like the thralls that while quick to rise were also quick to die, and he had never been entirely sure why that was. Maybe it was because they were further down away from the original magic that had made him, and he supposed he could ask his grandfather, but the idea of doing so was unappealing. He and Edgar's familial relationship had never improved after the day the spell had been cast and Sorin vanished from Innistrad.

At the moment he did consider leaving again and letting Mila deal with the consequences of her actions on her own, and then remembered when he'd woken up alone on some godsforsaken plane without any idea on what had happened to him or why he was starving in a way that all the food in the multiverse could not slake. He sighed and got out of his bath, throwing on his trousers and a light-linen shirt, and settled in for the long haul. There would be a lot to explain when she came to. 

These things needed to stop happening to him.

 


End file.
